The List
by Electric Plum
Summary: America never asked England THAT question for fear of what the answer would be. It takes him by surprise when England asks him instead. M for past sexytimes.
1. Prologue

**The List**

_Pairing: USUK, USxVarious, UKxVarious  
Warnings: Sexual situations, but no actual lemons, and language. _

_((AN: I wrote this during history class one day, wondering: who were England and America with before they confessed and stuff? In my head, they didn't get together until after WWII, but they were attracted to each other long before that, starting when America joined WWI. Enough rambling! Onto the story! I don't own Hetalia. ))_

America would never get tired of the feeling of waking up next to England in the morning. The pleasant soreness along with the warmth of the smaller nation cuddled next to him and the smell that was uniquely theirs. It reminded him of hot apple cider of an autumn day – spices blended with something undeniably sweet – mixed with that sex smell which lingered until his brightly colored quilt had been washed. All of it was comfortably familiar these days.

He felt his lover stir next to him, nestling closer. "Morning…" The vibrations of England's voice against his chest made him smile. He reached for Texas so he could see the other man's face clearly.

"I'll make you some tea," he said, starting to get up.

"Don't bother. Your tea," the Brit said, "is horrible." The older nation crawled out of bed and slipped into a discarded pair of boxers.

America stayed and admired his lover's ass clad in a pair of boxers with the star spangled banner printed on them for a moment before he leapt into action. Since England had grabbed his boxers, leaving behind the red plaid ones he had worn the night before, he had nothing to wear. England's would be too small on him. So, he dug through his drawers until he found a deep blue silk robe.

He slipped it on, letting the feel of silk and – was that the scent of roses still there, after all these years, or was it just his imagination? – wash over him. He ran out of his room then, chasing the sound of a screaming teapot.

When he arrived in the kitchen, a modern room in contrast to the rest of the cottage on the Oregon coast, England had the coffee pot running. It smelled like a Starbucks in there, with English Breakfast tea and Colombian coffee steam mingling in the air. America stood by the brewing pot while England took a seat on the other side of the kitchen island.

"That's a new robe."

"Nah, it was a gift." America subconsciously adjusted his glasses. "What do you think? You like it?"

"…It's too fancy for you." He sipped his tea. "Who did you say gave it to you?"

"I didn't." He looked down at the coffee pot as the last of the liquid dribbled down. He poured a mug, then added sugar and a healthy dose of Coffee Mate. Delaying, he took a long sip, made a face, then added more sugar.

"Out with it, git."

"Um. Someone I was with. Before."

"And his name…?"

"Her."

The clink of the teacup on marble countertop brought America's eyes up to meet England's dancing green orbs. _He's _amused _by this!_ America realized.

"You never told me about anyone before! And here I was thinking I was your first."

"Well, neither did you." America said stubbornly. He knew perfectly well that England had been with plenty of other men, and maybe some women too, but he had always been to embarrassed to ask who, exactly.

"America," England said, the amusement showing in his voice." "I'll tell you who I was with if you tell me." When the younger nation didn't respond, he continued. "You know, your people say, when you sleep with someone, you sleep with everyone that person has had sex with. I have the right to know."

He blushed. "Marilyn Monroe, first. Then some Miss Americas, a prostitute, only once! And… Um…"

"Speak up, don't be embarrassed. I was with William Shakespeare, you know. And France."

"You've had hate sex with another nation too!"

"I won't tell unless you tell me who yours was with."

"Fine." He huffed, taking another swig of coffee. "I had hate sex with Russia."

_((So, the idea for this story is that I'll write how America wound up in bed with all these people, in the order he named them. Review and let me know if you think it's a good idea. If not, I won't bother continuing. I hoped you enjoyed it either way! ~Elie the Electric Plum )) _


	2. Part 1, Chapter 1: Marilyn Monroe

_((Thanks to everyone who's read, reviewed, favorited, and alerted my story! I really appreciate all of the comments and encouragement. I'm glad you like this! This chapter is about America's favorite vixen: Miss Marilyn Monroe! I'd like to note that her name at the time this happened was still Norma Jeane Mortenson, and that's what America knew her as. ))_

**Hollywood, 1945:**

The day had been cloudy and dim, the threat of rain looming over America's head. It was uncharacteristic for this town, but he didn't mind all that much, really. The end of the Second World War still brightened his country's outlook, although, he was feeling a little feverish. Feverish – and frustrated. England was supposed to meet him. They were going to celebrate together. America wouldn't admit to himself why England's cancelling felt so crushing. It was just drinks with an ally, nothing more.

Really!

He sighed to himself, feeling almost… Lonely. The evening was slowly becoming darker as he walked down the street, headed to his favorite bar. It wasn't crawling with stars, like the ones he passed, with long lines of hopeful young men and women who wanted to meet their idols. This one was a little dive that only he, some of his air force buddies, and few others knew of.

America draped his bomber jacket over the back of his usual chair at the bar. He gave halfhearted greetings to the other regulars before a tall beer was placed before him.

Not even a Samuel Adams could make him feel better, it seemed.

"This seat taken?" A voice asked. It came from a woman. Not a girl, not a female – a woman. Her curly hair, he could tell, had been recently dyed blond. Her full lips were upturned in a smile at him.

"Not at all," America said, gesturing for her to take a seat. "Alfred F. Jones." He introduced himself using the human name he had chosen so long ago. It was the name on his government paychecks, and his passport, but it wasn't his true name. His real name was The United States of America. But he couldn't introduce himself as that to such a lovely woman. She'd think he was crazy.

"Norma Jeane." She answered with a wink, taking a seat. "What's your deal? You look a little blue, there."

"Ah, a buddy of mine was supposed to be here to celebrate the end of the war with me. He… didn't make it." He gestured for the bartender to bring another round.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" She looked at him with wide eyes. With pity. "He was a soldier?"

"No! Well, yes, but he's not dead. Just stuck in Europe." He smiled, sadly. "The guy hardly ever comes over here to the land of the free. He's England. I mean, English."

"Well, at least we're here." She said. "I, for one, am here to celebrate!"

"Oh?"

"I just signed with Blue Book Modeling. I got shiny new blond hair, and a fat paycheck." She smiled. It was a beautiful smile, full of excitement. "I can't believe it! A girl like me, and I'm gonna be famous." She held up her glass. "Only, in America, Mr. Jones! The land of opportunity! Pretty soon, the roads really will be paved with gold!"

"I'll drink to that!" America smiled broadly. "Things are looking up for me, that's for sure." He paused. "I still feel bad about what I had to do to Japan, though…" he trailed off, then shook his head, replacing that wide smile which had disappeared when he thought of the Manhattan Project. He realized how crazy he must have sounded, taking personal responsibility for the A-Bomb. "Uh. I meant we. The nation, not me personally. There's no way a person could represent a whole country, right? Haha!" He finished off his second beer, heart beating fast. He wanted to impress her.

Norma blinked at him. "You're a strange one, but I like you." She waved her arm and another round was placed before America.

They talked of patriotism and equality, freedom and opportunity. They talked for hours, and were more than a little tipsy by the time Norma smiled and suggested they take the celebration somewhere else.

In the morning, America awoke in a soft bed next to a perfect woman who smelled of roses.

They spent the next week together, living in the extravagant luxury one could only find in Hollywood. He tried to memorize every detail of Norma Jeane, down to the exact location of her beauty mark. America bought her gifts, and she returned the favor. His favorite, the one he held onto all these years, was a silk blue robe.

Eight years later, he smiled and laughed when he picked up a magazine off the rack. There, on the cover of Playboy, was the girl who captured his heart – both his beating, human heart and the heart of his nation - and his virginity. Norma Jeane Mortenson. Marilyn Monroe.

_((I hope y'all enjoyed. I'll be using a Miss America for the next chapter – I need to do some research still and decide which one. Also, I'm going to make this a two-part fic. The first part, you're reading. It's America's past loves. The second part will be England's. So, I need to ask – who do you think England was with before America? We all know he had hate sex with France more than once, and I think he was with Shakespeare at one point. But who else! Leave me a review with your opinions. Thanks! –Elie )) _


	3. Part 1, Chapter 2: Miss USA

The List

Part 1, Chapter 2: Miss USA

((Writing this chapter was almost painful at times, but I did it. Sorry for the appallingly slow and irregular updates, I just have no motivation. This chapter is set at a beauty pageant, but don't expect it to be accurate. I know nothing about what pageants were like in the 1950's. All I know about the Miss USA pageant, I learned from Miss Congeniality. It should also be noted that I learned self-defense from that movie as well. On another note, why do I make America such a fail when meeting pretty girls?

_**To my wonderful reviewers:**_

(I really should have done this last chapter as well, but I completely spaced on it…)

**CBJC**: I'm glad you're enjoying it! Geoffrey Chaucer will definitely be short-listed, but I'll have to do more research first. I know absolutely nothing about British literature unless we're talking Shakespeare. Blame it on my high school. They require American lit, sure, but Brit lit is an elective… One that no one chooses. I wanted to take it, but not enough other people signed up to make the minimum class size requirement.

**The Guy Below Me Sucks**: Your name wins. Thanks so much~ I just came up with the thought of her because she was the first Playboy model of the month. So, I'm guessing a lot of American guys thought they were in love at that point. xD

**GlassCase**: Oscar Wilde has also been shortlisted! Thanks for the input! I'm usually not that big of a fan of hate sex either, but we all know it happened. Also, I know a decent amount of Cold War trivia, mostly revolving around the science of the time, so I couldn't help but give myself a chance to use it.

**StevetheSuperOtaku:** Sir Steve, you never fail to flatter! Thanks so much!

**LovelessRain0397**: I love you too, m'dear. -huggles-

**Rusty Halos**: OHMIGOSH why did I not think of Queen Elizabeth I earlier! You pointed out a seriously big blonde moment of mine, there. Thanks so much! Also, yes, it is a lot of lonely nights. But in my headcanon, America was a little held back by his Christian beliefs for a while. It wasn't too long ago that it was a big deal if someone had sex before being married!

**HetaliaUSUKcp-MomoChan**: Wait- wait a sec. YOU WROTE SNOWY RELATIONSHIPS. -glomps- You just made my day with that review, seriously. I think we all knew they DID IT, m'dear. And USUK does guarantee awesomeness! This story wasn't much of a gamble when it comes to that.

And now, the story!

I don't own Hetalia. If I did, there would be more USUK and RuCan would be canon. ))

**Sometime During the 1950's:**

The beauty pageants had been going on for years, but for whatever reason, America had never attended one until that time. The organizer put him right next to the judge's table, in a place of honor, so he had a great view. When the music started and the young women began to file on stage, his eyes grew as wide as saucers. The fashion designer on his left began to comment.

"South Dakota's posture could use some work, but look at those legs!" America found himself nodding in agreement.

"Check Miss Texas out!" He said to no one in particular. "If I were a woman, that's what I'd want to look like. She's… She's…"

"All American beauty." The closest judge commented to him. "She's the favorite. Her name is Alicia Jane Oakwood."

America's eyes didn't leave Alicia's figure for the entire first night. Her bouncy blonde bob and blue eyes captured his attention and simply would not let go. He read her profile printed in the program - she was a small-town girl who dreamed of moving to the suburbs, marrying, and having three kids. She tutored children who struggled in school. Her father and older brother both served in the air force. She acted in community theatre, and had been in commercials on TV.

Alicia Oakwood may have been America's perfect woman in that particular decade. That night, when he retired to his hotel room, visions of white picket fences and a blonde-haired, blue-eyed wife in the modern kitchen danced in his head.

( Of course, that was before the reoccurring nightmare of communists taking over his government started. It was always the same - Russia sent a nuclear missile, America and England would have to hide underground, alone together, with only each other for comfort… )

In the morning, he took a quick cold shower, splashed on some lavender water, and stepped into his gray flannel suit. He tried to comb his hair, but Nantucket, as always, would not stay down. He didn't try too hard, though, lest another cold shower be required. Giving one last polish to Texas, he stepped out of his room, double checking that his key was tucked safely in the pocket of his pants.

He has been aware that he was staying in the same hotel as the contestants, but the fact didn't truly hit home until he found himself sharing an elevator with Alicia Oakwood. She was even more breathtaking up close. His heart seemed to stutter when she smiled up at him.

"Mr. Jones, correct? You're one of the guests of honor. I'm Alicia. You can call me AJ."

"Uh, call me The Hero! I mean, Am - I mean, Alfred. Right! Call me Alfred!" He shook her hand, holding on for a little longer than politeness dictated. He let go, blushing, when the elevator door opened and a few other girls pushed their way inside. America was surprised by how many girls made it their business to know who the judges spoke to, and dropped flirty hints that he should mention them to the panel. They were all fake - but not Alicia. AJ. She was… Genuine. Everything from the spark in those eyes to the freckles splattered on her pale cheeks was real.

"We get a long break for lunch," AJ said, looking at him. She was only an inch or so shorter than he. "Would you like to join me?"

"It would be my honor… AJ."

The elevator doors opened on the ground floor, and the two separated with a lingering glance.

The pair met at the hotel's dimly lit restaurant at noon. AJ seemed to have pulled one of those lightning-fast changes that pageant girls were so good at. Her simple blouse, pearls, and pencil skirt looked just as good as the fancy dresses she wore on stage. Her sun-streaked hair was pulled into a bun, though a few strands hung loose, framing her delicate face. "Alfred! You made it, I'm so glad!" she stood from her stool at the bar and gave him a quick hug. Alfred blushed, and ordered a margarita, along with his usual burger. It was what modern businessmen drank at lunch, and that was the role he was playing.

"It's great so see you. How do you think the competition is going?" It was a line he had rehearsed in his head. not too personal, not too impersonal. Just something two people would talk about at lunch, naturally.

"Oh, I don't know if I'll win…" She said, looking down with a sad smile.

"What- What do you mean by that! You're beautiful, of course you'll win!"

AJ looked up, her eyes sparking with something, something like hope. "You really think so?"

"I know so! If I were a judge, I would totally pick you!"

"But you're not a judge. Maybe you could… No, I wouldn't ask you to put in a word for me. That would be unfair to the other girls."

"Oh, I wouldn't need to, you'll win anyway - "

"Have you seen New York? I'm hopeless against her." A tear began to fall, and America acted without thinking. He turned her head toward his and gave her a gentle, loving kiss. When he withdrew, her eyes danced. "Oh… Um, Alfred…"

He turned back to the bar.

"Um. Miss Oakwood, how much more time do you have left of your break?"

"An hour at least."

"Would you like to come up to my room with me?"

Forty five minutes later, the pair laid in bed next to each other.

"Alfred?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you sure you don't want to help me win?"

He didn't answer her. She got up, dressed, and left the room without a goodbye. And America felt like a horrible person.

So, that night, before the next round of competition began, he left, guilty that he couldn't bring himself to help her.

She won anyway. That evening, she went back to his room, intent on thanking him for his help with a night of loving, but he was gone. She spent the rest of her life remembering the man who helped her to win the crown of Miss USA.

((I kind of hate how I ended this chapter. Meri got played, and it didn't even matter in the end. Alicia Oakwood was not a real Miss USA contestant, however, she is very loosely based on a girl I know in real life. If she seems familiar, that's why. The real girl is much kinder, I promise.

Thanks to Amber Lehcar for her help with the chapter.

I hope you enjoyed~ Please review with any comments, and especially if you have critique. I'd really appreciate it! Have fun, everyone! -EP))


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